


Stardust

by shootingstarcipher



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-08 07:11:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12249492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shootingstarcipher/pseuds/shootingstarcipher
Summary: “You know, technically, we’re all made of stardust...”“Don’t be so stupid. That can’t be true.”Richie carried on speaking as if he hadn’t even heard him. “And you, Eds, must have gotten more than your fair share.”





	1. The Perfect Life

Eddie couldn’t remember how they met. He thought it might have been in hospital, but then maybe that’s because he was lying awake in hospital right then, his mind overflowing with thoughts of Richie Tozier. Even though his greatest fear was coming true that very second. He was dying – he knew it. Even though he was always being made fun of for his fragility, even though he was constantly being told not to overreact and that he was nothing more than an over-dramatic hypochondriac, he knew at that moment he was dying. 

He was slipping away and all he could think of was Richie fucking Tozier.

And he hadn’t been able to stop thinking of him since that morning when it all began.

While he hated the idea of him never taking responsibility for his own actions, in a way he thought it was all Ben Hanscom’s fault. Ben, whose bright idea it had been to celebrate the beginning of summer with a sleepover, had somehow managed to convince his family to invite the rest of the Loser’s Club over and, seeing as they were guests in his home, he was the one who chose the sleeping arrangements. Beverly had slept in the bed whilst almost everyone else had ended up in sleeping bags sprawled across the floor, but as there wasn’t enough space for six people to sleep on the floor without it getting uncomfortable both Eddie and Richie wound up on the sofas in the living room, each with a pillow to rest on and a blanket for warmth.

They didn’t mind and in fact Eddie was glad to spend some time alone with Richie, until the older boy noticed how much he was relying on his inhaler that night and how his hands were shaking as he held it to his mouth, and the way his eyes snapped open instinctively before he could even begin to drift off to sleep. He was afraid and Richie knew it.

He’d lazily waved Eddie over and the younger boy had breathed deeply into his inhaler one final time before pushing back the blanket and crossing the floor to his friend, who in turn pushed away his own blanket and rolled onto his side, creating a small amount of space for Eddie. Eddie expected it to be uncomfortable but it wasn’t. Lying there with the heat of Richie’s chest pulsing through to his own, their faces almost touching but not quite, he thought to himself that nothing had ever felt so right in his life.

His fears were dissolving into a sweet sort of serenity he rarely felt, the drumming beat of Richie’s heart lulling him to sleep faster than he would have imagined.

It was only when he awoke the next morning, his face burrowing into the crook of Richie’s neck, that he felt his cheeks start to burn a deep shade of scarlet and he suddenly felt insecure, several of his friends staring at him while Richie slept peacefully beside him, oblivious to their watchful gazes. Stan decided to rather unhelpfully point out that they could have slept on their own individual sofas and asked whether he’d realised it would have been more comfortable that way. Eddie simply bit his lip and scowled, covering his face to hide his obvious blush. 

Richie walked him home later that morning, their houses being relatively close together. They were the first two to leave Ben’s house and, while he may have simply been paranoid, Eddie was sure he heard snickering from his friends as they walked away.

He remained silent the entire time whereas Richie never shut up, repeatedly making jokes that he didn’t really find very funny but he laughed anyway because it was Richie.

When they reached the porch of Eddie’s house it became apparent that his anxious disposition stemmed from having to return home to his mother and, in acknowledgement of the fear he could see radiating from every trembling step the younger boy took towards his own home, Richie revealed a side of himself that not many people ever had the privilege of seeing. Following him up the steps, he reached out and took his hand, pulling him into something that was not quite an embrace but very nearly. It lasted for well over a minute and all Eddie could do was smile to himself at the feeling.

Richie disappeared a moment later, his slender silhouette vanishing around the corner just as Eddie’s mother opened the door. 

Eddie only wished then, as he lay awake in bed with his gaze fixated on the hospital ceiling, that he had taken another moment or two to take in his best friend’s features – like the gentle waves of his hair, the way he pushed his glasses higher up on his face with his index finger whenever they slipped down too far, and how his dark eyes could suddenly become intense when he felt a powerful surge of emotion. He was really going to miss those things about him. And his stupid jokes that still managed to elicit a snicker from him, and the perpetual bickering that they both secretly enjoyed.

An angry beeping sound screeched at him from his bedside table, bringing his reminiscent reverie to an abrupt end. He snatched up his pills and swallowed them whole in response, years of experience making it second nature to him – so much so that he no longer needed to chase them down his throat with a glass of water.

His heartbeat was slowing. Maybe he wasn’t dying after all… But if that was the case, then why would he have been admitted to hospital? The doctors knew what they were talking about, so why admit him if everything was alright?

It hit him then that none of his friends even knew where he was. His mother had rushed him to hospital so damn fast he hadn’t had the chance to call any of them and let them know what was happening, and since then she hadn’t let him anywhere near the phone, insisting that he was so delicate that just walking down the corridor could be damaging to him. But he was feeling better now. The closest phone wasn’t far away (just a couple of doors away, on the wall outside his room). He glanced over at his mother, who was sleeping in the chair beside his bed, whispered a barely audible apology for his disobedience and slipped out of bed.

Upon reaching the phone he grabbed it from its place on the wall, held it firmly to his ear and dialled one of the only two numbers he knew by heart – Richie’s. He answered in a heartbeat.

“Eds? Are you okay?” He sounded half-asleep but not at all irritated by his late-night phone call, though Eddie immediately felt guilty for waking him up in the middle of the night.

“I’m… I’m in hospital – something to do with my heart but I don’t know why… I don’t know why this is happening. I’ve been taking my pills but I still ended up in here…” There were tears clinging to his eyelashes now, threatening to fall if he said anything else.

A few seconds of silence went by before Richie spoke up again. “I’ll be there in half an hour. Don’t go anywhere.” He hung up before Eddie had the chance to respond, leaving him standing there in the hallway, wondering where the hell he could have gone had Richie not told him to stay put. By the end of their miniscule conversation, the exhaustion had vanished from Richie’s voice, panic and concern in its place.

Returning to his room, Eddie did as his mother had told him earlier that day and woke her up to let her know he was feeling better; he did so from his bed, calling to her from across the room because he knew how she would react if she saw him out of bed for anything other than going to the bathroom. Within a matter of seconds she had left the room to find a nurse to inform them of the development of her son’s condition, while Eddie closed his eyes in the hopes of getting a few minutes sleep before Richie got there – though he suspected he wouldn’t be able to see him anyway (firstly because it was the middle of the night and he doubted the hospital staff would let him in, and even if he did manage to get in, he suspected his mother would put a stop to his visit the instant she found out about it).

She never had seemed to like Richie. Well, she’d always had something against each of his friends but she seemed to dislike Richie the most, never referring to him by his first name (always “that Tozier boy”) and refusing to have him in the house for more than a few minutes. She would have hated it if she’d caught sight of their not-quite-an-embrace that morning. And what’s more, she would have had an aneurysm if she’d known how last night’s sleeping arrangements had ended up.

Fortune was for once on Eddie Kaspbrak’s side and he found himself drifting off to sleep, the sound of a fist knocking against the glass window across from him waking him up just over thirty minutes later.

He glanced at the chair where his mother had been sitting earlier on. She was asleep again, snoring softly. With a small smile playing on his lips, he crossed the floor to the window which he promptly lifted open, allowing his visitor to climb inside. “How did you manage to get here at this time? Aren’t your parents mad? Do they even know you’re here?”

Shushing him, Richie shook his head, his stare gravitating to Eddie’s sleeping mother. “Jeez, she never leaves you alone, does she?” he joked, quietly striding over to the bed she was sitting beside. “Don’t worry about how I got here, Eddie. What’s important is that I am here.”

It was true and the simple fact that he was there was comforting enough to elicit a stifled yawn from him as he crawled back into bed, with Richie sitting cross-legged and incredibly wide-awake opposite him. “Eds, if you’re tired, just sleep. I’ll stay here until they drag me out kicking and screaming, I promise.” He smiled as if he was joking, but something about the way he said it made Eddie suspect – and hope – that he wasn’t.

But before he went back to sleep, Eddie wanted to speak with him in case he didn’t get a chance to later. “Something’s wrong with my heart, Rich. I don’t know why, but it keeps beating really fast and sometimes I can barely breathe – but it’s different to my normal attacks… I don’t know.”

“Lemme guess,” Richie started after thinking for a moment. “It happens when you think about a certain person, and after you start you just can’t stop thinking about them?” Eddie stared, amazed at how quickly he’d managed to comprehend his symptoms, and nodded, asking how he knew. “Just a hunch,” the older boy shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips and if Eddie hadn’t known any better, he would have sworn Richie was blushing. 

Yawning again, the younger boy stretched out his arms before laying back down, pulling the blanket over himself for warmth. Richie curled up at the bottom of the bed, his every action that day – as far as Eddie was concerned – a symbol of his loyalty.


	2. A Hundred Lies

But peace and bliss for the two of them could only ever last so long and just as he’d dreaded, his mother awoke at the worst time possible. He knew because of her shouts. A short nap had restored some of his energy and when his eyes flew open he found his best friend curled up beside him, a defiant look on his face, while his mother glared coldly at the two of them. “You! Tozier boy! Get out!” she practically screeched, resulting in her son jolting awake in horror. “You’re making him sick!”

Richie eyed his best friend’s mother lazily, grabbing Eddie’s hand with the utmost nonchalance and refusing to move. He didn’t seem to comprehend the seriousness of her words, like he thought that she wouldn’t remove him by force if it came to it. Eddie gripped the older boy’s hand in return and shyly asked his mother to let him stay for a little longer. They were lucky because, before she could get up and throw him out the room as she longed to, a doctor in his traditional long white coat sauntered into the room, instantly putting an abrupt end to their incessant squabbling.

“Eddie Kaspbrak?” the dark-haired doctor smiled, standing at the foot of Eddie’s hospital bed while his patient nodded in agreement as his friend hastily slipped out from between the sheets, perching on the edge of the bed, their fingers remaining interlocked. “Your test results are in and…”

“And?” Mrs Kaspbrak interrupted sharply, leaning forward in her seat enthusiastically.

“You’re fine, Eddie,” the doctor continued, speaking as though she hadn’t said a word. “Everything’s normal. You’ll be able to go home today.”

Richie’s gaze was fixed on his friend’s expression – half-relieved, half-shocked – but then he caught a glimpse of Mrs Kaspbrak’s and had to stifle a laugh. She looked utterly appalled. He gave Eddie’s hand a slight squeeze, reassuring him that although his mother looked as if she was about to murder someone, he was there for him if he needed him. His mother insisted there must have been some sort of mistake, that her son was weak and delicate and begged them to keep him in at least another night and for them to conduct more tests because they must have gotten it wrong the first time, but the doctor refused to acknowledge her pleas, telling her quite plainly that while mistakes were sometimes made, there was absolutely nothing physically wrong with her son.

During the ongoing argument between Mrs Kaspbrak and the doctor, Richie took the opportunity to whisper into Eddie’s ear without being noticed by his friend’s eternally-resentful mother. “You know you just have a crush on someone, right? That’s what’s wrong with your heart. It does that.” He pulled back immediately, smirking when Eddie stared at him with wide eyes.

Unfortunately, Mrs Kaspbrak seemed to have heard him. “Don’t be so disgusting!” Her shrill cry cut off the doctor mid-sentence and a couple of nurses hovered in the doorway, looking on with intrigue. “He’s a child! Maybe you have feelings like that, Tozier, but not my little Eddie.”

No-one seemed to notice when Eddie rolled over onto his side, buried his head under the blanket and started to cry quietly, the constant arguments between the two most important, influential people in his life filling him with a tormenting sense of distress that overpowered any sliver of positive emotion he had left within him. Eventually his mother was carted out of the room on the grounds that someone needed to speak to him alone, though the doctor didn’t explain what that was about. He made Richie leave too, except he didn’t go kicking and screaming like he’d promised.

That made Eddie cry harder and he still didn’t stop when a tall, professional-looking blonde woman strode into the room and sat down in the chair where his mother had previously been sitting. She pushed her dainty round glasses further up her nose – a painful reminder of the fact that Richie was no longer there – and checked whether he was indeed Eddie Kaspbrak (something which he decided a lot of people seemed to be doing that day) and went on to introduce herself as a psychiatrist. Apparently, she needed to see him because of his persistent symptoms of anxiety, to which he suggested that anyone who was as controlled by a strict regime of medication as him would be just as anxious as he supposedly was.

She started asking him questions about his home life and he immediately began to shut down, refusing to answer any of them. He had stopped crying by now and had wiped his tears away, but when she asked whether he was happy at home the feeling of his tears gathering at the corners of his eyes returned and it took every ounce of strength and courage he had to hold them back as he nodded his head, reluctant to speak. He was happy at home – sometimes. But other times he wished his mother wasn’t so protective, even though he knew she was only doing it because she cared, and that she wouldn’t disapprove of his friends so much.

In fact, what he hated most about his mother’s possessive behaviour was how she often insisted that nobody besides her truly cared for him. He thought it was because she didn’t approve of his friends but sometimes she was so obstinate on the subject that he was starting to believe that none of them – not even Richie – actually liked him, that they were only pretending to out of pity. The Losers’ Club accepted anyone, but they didn’t truly accept him – and only allowed him into the group because he had no-one else to turn to.

Catching sight of the tears he was so desperately trying to hide, the psychiatrist closed her notebook, stood up and declared that their short session was over because he was obviously struggling, though Eddie was bemused as to the fact that their momentary encounter had indeed been a “session”. She reached across and handed him a small appointment card which stated that they would have another session in a week’s time, and told him he could get ready to go home.

He found his mother waiting for him outside the room. She smiled at the sight of him and, at her request, he hugged her (albeit half-heartedly) and kissed her on the cheek. As they headed towards the exit, she launched into a series of questions about what had gone on in the room while she had been made to sit outside and he answered all of them, each one with a vague lie, and in usual circumstances he would have felt guilty but at this particular moment he was too distract by his hopeful search for Richie.

Even as he climbed into the car, about to leave for home, he was still searching for Richie. And he was still having no luck whatsoever with his pursuit.

“I saw you looking for him.” His mother’s words sliced through the air the minute they stepped into the house, chilling him to the bone. For a second he glanced up at her, perplexed and shocked by her proclamation. “That Tozier boy,” she spat, as if she really needed to explain. “I sent him home,” she said proudly, depositing herself onto the sofa and patting the seat next to her, like she was expecting him to sit down beside her.

He didn’t, only scowling in response. “That doctor said there was nothing physically wrong with me. Doctors know what they’re talking about.”

She shrugged it off, still insisting that they’d made a mistake with his tests. “You know you’re delicate, Eddie. They know it too. He was probably just trying not to scare you – only I tell you the truth all the time. I’m the only one who cares enough to be honest with you, Eddie.” She was about to say something about his friends – he could feel it – but he cut her off before she had the chance to start.

“You lied to me. You’ve been lying this whole time,” he growled, teeth gritted and bared like a feral animal. “Am I even sick? Do I even need these?” He snatched up the bottle of pills he’d been carrying around for years, launching them across the room in a fury.

She continued to deny everything, repeating that only she was honest with him and that everyone else were the liars until eventually he couldn’t bear to stand there and listen to her anymore, at which point he stormed out dramatically – though his stomps didn’t make as much noise as he’d hoped, giving that his body was smaller and lighter than that of an average boy his age – and locked himself in his room, not even coming out when his mother shouted him for dinner.

He didn’t know what he was supposed to think or feel anymore. Maybe no-one did like him, but if that was true, then why did Richie hurry to the hospital to see him in the middle of the night? Why did he even answer his call?

His thoughts quickly turned to the last words Richie had spoken to him – his explanation of his rapid heartbeat. Though his mother clearly disagreed, it was possible, he supposed, that his perpetual obsessive thoughts of his closest friend and the way his heart raced when they entered his mind (as it was doing at that exact moment) could be explained by the simple notion that he was developing strange, foreign feelings for him. But he hoped to God that it wasn’t true. He couldn’t have feelings like that for another boy – that was wrong; his mother had taught him that long ago.

He could feel his face burning, his cheeks turning red as he tried to focus on something else – anything else. As far as he was concerned, the longer he went without thinking of Richie, the better.

So he took out a pen from his nightstand drawer, perched on the edge of his bed and started drawing on his arm until his entire forearm had become a forest of reddish flowers. He was feeling much calmer by the time he’d finished, so calm in fact that when his mother knocked on the door a few minutes later he answered it (though he kept his arm hidden behind his back), choosing to face her rather than continue hiding.

“Eddie,” she said sympathetically, though anyone would have realised there was nothing genuine about her kindness, tilting her head onto one side as she gazed down at him. “You need to come out and eat. You know how weak you are.”

He scowled at the floor and disregarded her last notion entirely. “No, thank you. I’m not hungry.”

He attempted to shut the door then but she kicked out her leg just in time, her foot getting caught between the door and the doorframe. “You can’t hide in there all day, Eddie.” She paused, thinking for a moment. “Are you still taking your pills? There’s another-”

He pushed her foot away using all the strength in his own and slammed the door shut before she could finish that thought.


End file.
